Your Time Is Gonna Come
by mixedup77
Summary: Dean's deal is weeks away from coming due and Sam thinks they should focus on finding Lilith. Dean has other ideas. Namely investigating a set of unsolved murders. But this time they may be in over their heads. Multi-chapter story. End of season 3.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Set at the end of season 3. Dean's deal is just weeks away from coming up due and Sam thinks they should be focusing on finding Lilith. Dean has other ideas. Namely investigating a set of unsolved murders. But this time they may be in over their heads.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I still don't own Supernatural. I did not create the Winchesters. I'm not making any money off of this either so please don't sue me.

Author's Note:_ This story very, very loosely works as a prequel to You Can't Get There From Here. It's also my first try writing Sam. I hope I don't screw him up too badly. More chapters to come. Please let me know what you think._

_Oh and for the curious the title comes from a Led Zeppelin song. I'm sure Dean would approve._

* * *

><p><strong>YOUR TIME IS GONNA COME<strong>

**Chapter 1**

They were sitting in the cracked vinyl booth of a diner, in a town just left of the middle of nowhere, when they heard the magic words. Those words that always had their ears perking up no matter what they were doing. Dean stopped with a fry halfway to his mouth. Sam's eyes slid in the direction of the conversation they'd just silently decided to eavesdrop on.

At the little table crammed into the corner sat two women. One had a curtain of dark hair and enormous eyes that made her look permanently terrified. The other's hair was a shade of red not previously found in nature. Her dangly earrings jingled every time she spoke.

"It's really _weird_," said the dark haired woman. Her hair fell forward as if it were trying to hide her from view. "I mean, it's horrible, but it's so weird, right? Poor Anne. First Tom dying and now Jeff. It's like she's cursed or something." She shook her head and leaned further over the table towards her friend. Their heads bowed together over the formica tabletop. "People are calling her a black widow."

The red haired woman put her lips to her straw, poking it into the ice at the bottom of the cup and trying to suction up the last drops of her soda from it. The sound was insanely loud compared to their whispered conversation. She shook her head setting her earrings to ringing again. "Not a chance. She really loved Jeff. Can't imagine walking into that. Can you?" She looked at her friend for confirmation and a complicated look passed between them. When they were done their eyes had doubled in size. "I heard there were… parts missing."

The first woman laughed a little shrilly. She looked down at her rapidly congealing tuna melt. "I can't believe people are trying to blame her. Just because of Tom…" She shook her head again, a little harder this time as if she could negate the entire conversation. "No. Nope. There's just no way. I've known Anne since preschool. She won't even dye her hair. Thinks it's a sin. She wouldn't kill anyone."

The redhead nodded again. "Gives me the shivers. What if the person who killed him was still there? They could've gotten her too." She shuddered and both women fell silent.

Sam and Dean sat listening in case there was more but the two women just stared at their half eaten food. After a while they started talking about something they'd seen on TV, plastic smiles glued firmly in place.

The brothers bent their heads together.

Sam was the first to speak. "We're busy."

"With what?" Dean popped another couple of fries in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Wouldn't hurt to check it out."

A scowl creased Sam's face. "We're busy."

The waitress swung by their table, neatly interrupting the conversation before it could turn into an argument. "You boys need anything else?" she asked after she'd topped off their coffee.

"Check," Sam said.

"Pie," Dean answered at the same time, shooting Sam a hard look. "Was that apple pie I saw when we walked in?"

After a quick glance between the brothers, she nodded. "Best in town."

Dean ordered two slices and went back to ignoring Sam's glare while he finished his food. He wouldn't say it was the best bacon cheeseburger he'd ever had but the bacon was so thick it was practically a meal all by itself. He chased the crispy scraps around the plate when he'd finished everything else. He could feel the heat of Sam's eyes on him but he'd had decades of practice at pretending not to notice.

"Bobby's expecting us," Sam reminded him.

"Don't think he'll mind waiting until after I've had some pie."

"I was talking about the murder. We can't stay."

"Oh. That." The vinyl seat squeaked as Dean moved to make way for the little plate of pie the waitress dropped in front of him. She deposited the other in front of Sam who made a sour face at it. "Dude, don't blame the pie." Dean picked up his fork. "Besides, what else are we gonna do?"

"How about find Lilith?"

"Bobby's working on it. You've had your nose buried in moldy books for weeks. So far we got nothing. Why not hang around here and check out the freaky murder case?"

Sam's frown threatened to crack his face in half and plop onto the table in his untouched pie. "You're going to Hell in less than three weeks if we don't find her," Sam hissed. "At least pretend to care."

Dean chewed his pie carefully. Not bad. Just the right amount of cinnamon. Not too tart. He took another bite, waiting until after he'd swallowed to answer. "I care, Sammy. A lot. But, again, we got nothing. The bitch might as well be invisible 'cause _we can't find her_. I'm not gonna spend my last few weeks as a free man pulling my hair out." He stabbed into the middle of his pie so hard the fork scraped the plate.

"Dean."

He put up his fork to stop Sam. "First, I'm going to eat my pie and if you don't start eating yours I'm eating that, too. Then I'm gonna get a newspaper and do some snooping on this Anne chick and the freaky deaths because that's what we do and, if by some miracle this is our kinda job, I'm gonna enjoy taking apart the son of a bitch who's responsible." His grip tightened on his fork and he looked back down at his plate. Most of the pie seemed to have disappeared while he was talking. He couldn't even remember eating it. He waved his fork in the direction of Sam's plate. "You gonna eat that?"

* * *

><p>Dean leaned against the side of the Impala and steadfastly pretended he couldn't hear Sam bitching into the phone not ten feet away. Seriously. Sam wasn't fooling anyone with that stage whisper. Deaf people could have heard him complaining. Death wish, blah, blah, blah. Stupid, blah, blah. Waste of time, blah, blah. Dean had heard it all before with increasing frequency over the last year. This was exactly why he'd tried to keep the deal a secret. Couldn't even let a man die in peace.<p>

Dean glued his eyes to the newspaper and finally found what he was looking for. The story had even made the front page of the little local paper. He was impressed. Then again, mysterious deaths were always a big draw even if the cops tried to call it a botched robbery with a side order of murder.

According to the article, one Anne Montgomery had gone to visit her fiancé after work and found him lying in a pool of his own blood, very dead and possibly missing some of his more important organs. The article was nice and vague but Dean got the gist of it anyway. Violent attack. Alibi for the time of the crime. No suspects yet. It was all a little unusual for a small town but nothing so far outside the realm of normal as to draw major suspicion. Maybe Sam was right.

Then again, maybe he wasn't.

The girl at the diner had mentioned something about another guy and this girl Anne. This was the part where Dean would have sicced Sam on the computer to do some research. Of course Sam was still on the phone with Bobby and, from the sounds of it, they were both in agreement on Dean being an idiot. He refolded the newspaper and tossed it into the backseat.

"Sam, I'm gonna use your computer to check out some porn. You cool with that?"

It was like flipping a switch. Sam was off the phone and at his side in a heartbeat.

"Don't touch my laptop."

Sam towered over his brother as if that would intimidate him. On the contrary, Dean smiled. "I need to look something up."

"No, you don't."

"It's research."

"Busty Asian Beauties is not research." Sam made a face, no doubt recalling a psychologically scarring moment between Dean and his favorite porn site.

"Hey, the female body is a beautiful, beautiful thing. But that's not what I meant."

* * *

><p>The motel room was wallpapered with a giant palm leaf pattern in a particularly violent shade of green with orange veins. A wicker lattice stood between the door and the beds offering the illusion of privacy without actually providing any. Pillow thick comforters in green and golden yellow smothered the beds but the sheets beneath were tucked with military precision. And for once the floor was free of mystery spots on the carpet. All in all, it was probably one of the nicer places they'd stayed.<p>

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" Sam asked as he dropped his bag next to the door of their newest motel accommodations.

Dean was already on the bed nearest the door, legs stretched out and hands tucked behind his head. "Because I'm awesome," was his response.

Sam ignored him in lieu of setting up his laptop at the little round table beside the room's only window. In no time, he was tapping away at the keys with a familiar wrinkle between his brows.

"Find something?" Dean asked. He was off the bed and headed Sam's way when he thought better of it. He backtracked to his duffel bag, pulling out his portable arsenal and arranging it on the bed beside him. Nothing spelled relaxation like field stripping his favorite gun. While he was at it, he could sharpen his knife, too.

"Yeah. Maybe." Sam glanced at him, taking an extra moment to eye the gun Dean was dismantling. He sat silent, watching his brother struggle with the barrel a second before it came free. "Woman at the diner mentioned some guy named Tom," he said, turning back to the laptop screen with a frown. "Name was Tom Jones." Dean chuckled. "Like I was saying, _Tom_ was Anne's fiancé. Found their engagement announcement from a few years back."

"Thought she was engaged to that Jeff guy," Dean said without looking up from his gun. He'd laid the pieces out on the bed beside him and was already checking everything over with a critical eye.

"She was engaged to them both. Tom died about a month before their wedding, again under mysterious circumstances. No suspects. Case it still unsolved. That was two years ago."

"What about fiancé number two?"

There was more tapping of keys and different windows overlaying each other on the laptop screen. "Jeff Tyler. Engaged to Anne Montgomery," he read, eyes scanning the page he'd just pulled up. "Mother and father deceased. Wedding was set for a month from now."

The slide clicked back into place and Dean set his reassembled gun aside. "Anything else?"

"I still think this is a waste of time."

Dean grinned. "Duly noted and ignored." Then he started rooting around in his bag for his whetstone. "So how did dear ole Tom die?"

Sam let out a huff of air and more tapping ensued. "There's only so much I can find without getting into the official records."

"Thought you were a genius hacker," Dean mumbled, hunched over as he ran his knife along the stone with a scrape. "I'm disappointed in you, Sammy."

"Can you put that away?" Sam slid the laptop back so he could turn in the chair. "What are we even doing here, Dean? A murder is hardly suspicious. We should be at Bobby's by now."

"I dunno but I got this feeling. My Spidey sense is tingling or something." Dean looked up. "Just… humor me. There's something here."

"Your feelings have been wrong before," Sam reminded him with a smirk but they both knew the battle had already been won. At least for now.

"You're just pissed 'cause I got all the instincts." He held up his knife to the light inspecting the edge for nicks. "Perfect. We can hit the morgue and check out the dead guy tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sam and Dean greeted the corpse on the table with twin pairs of raised eyebrows.

Dean summed it up nicely with, "Wow." He winced.

"Yeah." Sam cleared his throat but couldn't find another thing to say for a long moment.

In less than thirty seconds, this had jumped to the number one spot on their list of memorable morgue visits. The attendant fidgeted, his eyes going anywhere but the body he'd just pulled out. He stepped back. "Uh, I got some stuff to do… over there."

"We'll only be a minute," Sam said to the morgue attendant's rapidly retreating back.

The Winchesters looked down at what had formerly been Jeff Tyler. Cause of death was pretty obvious. Jeff looked like he'd been run over by a lawn mower, his chest slashed to ribbons. But that wasn't what had disturbed them ever since the body had been pulled from its drawer. They'd seen plenty of hacked up corpses. It was what Jeff was missing below the waist that had them both feeling a little nauseous.

"Someone gave him the Lorena Bobbitt treatment," Dean muttered, leaning towards Sam to be sure he was heard.

"Yeah. I noticed that."

Both men shifted in sympathy for poor ole Jeff.

"I'm betting he wasn't a eunuch," Dean said after another moment's thought.

"They're castrated," Sam snapped, looking a little green, "not… that."

Dean took a large step back. "I think I've seen enough to last me a lifetime."

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>"Ex-girlfriend looking for revenge?" Dean suggested as they headed back to the Impala.<p>

Sam shook his head. Jeff Tyler had not been a small man. He had over two hundred pounds of bulk on his 5'10" frame, much of it muscle. "I checked the lab reports. Blood came back negative for drugs, poison. Not even any alcohol. From the cuts on his hands and arms, I'd say he put up a decent fight, too. Whoever hacked him up had to've been strong. Real strong."

"So what then?"

"Despite Jeff's," Sam paused, "losses I'm still not seeing anything here that looks like our kinda weird."

He hated to admit it, but Dean was starting to agree. "Dammit." He slumped. "We're already in suits. Might as well go talk to this Anne chick before we pack in the circus."

Sam hung back a step, eyeing Dean's hunched shoulders as he rounded to the driver's side door. It didn't take a genius to see how tense his brother was. Not that Dean would have taken kindly to him pointing that out. Not right now. Probably not ever. So Sam just nodded and hopped into the passenger seat without another word. The only thing that would help right now was keeping busy.

* * *

><p>Anne Montgomery lived in an unassuming tan house with green shutters and a trellis weighed down by clusters of bright pink morning glories beside the front door. An oversized wind chime hung in the tree around the side of the house. When the wind blew, the metal rang like church bells.<p>

Sam was the first up to the front step. He knocked on the door, eyes running over the lawn ornaments clustered at the base of the trellis. He eyeballed the psychotically happy faced gnomes beside their miniature arched bridge and half expected them to look back at him. It wouldn't have been all that surprising in their line of work, but the gnomes stayed fixed in place with nary a blink or a twitch of resin muscles. When he glanced to the side, he caught Dean checking them out, too.

The door opened before they could comment.

Two women appeared in the doorway. The woman in the front looked to be in her early twenties. Pretty in a plain kind of way. Her chocolate brown hair escaped from her braid in long tendrils and her eyes had shadows beneath them. Sam would have been willing to bet money that she was Anne Montgomery. Barely a step behind her, stood another, slightly taller, woman with stick straight blond hair and wary look in her eye. She put a hand on Anne's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze as if she were expecting more bad news.

"Can I help you?" asked the brown haired woman. She kept a firm hold on the door as her eyes shifted between the men standing on her sunflower shaped welcome mat.

"Anne Montgomery? I'm Agent Helm. This is Agent Hudson," Dean said with a nod of his head to Sam. They both flashed their FBI badges. "We'd like to ask you a couple of questions about Jeffrey Tyler."

Anne's hand instantly went to the little gold cross on a chain around her neck. "I already spoke to the police," she said in a voice just above a whisper. She gave the cross a tug with two fingers.

"Can't this wait?" asked the woman behind her. "She's been through enough already."

"We're very sorry for your loss," Sam said smoothly, cutting in before Dean could say another word. Anne already looked like she was about to start bawling right then and there. "Please. We'll only take a moment of your time."

She nodded, stepping back into the dim interior of the house. She led them into the living room, waving a hand of invitation at the beige couch. "I'll just make some coffee." She wandered down the hallway leading towards the back of the house. She moved as if she were in a dream.

Sam and Dean shook their heads in unison. Definitely not a killer unless she was one hell of an actress.

"Don't upset her," hissed the blond woman before she followed Anne.

Left alone, the brother's eyes wandered around the room. The gauzy curtains on the large front window had been left closed, washing the room in perpetual dusk gloom. Otherwise it was the kind of cozy room they'd been in a hundred times before. A magazine or two discarded on the coffee table. Family pictures with smiling faces on the walls. A few potted plants in the corner of the room. But there was something especially subdued about it. No bright colors. And this time the magazines on the coffee table were covered by another larger book. Someone had left a large gilt edged bible spread open to the book of Tobit. Sam scooted forward on the couch to read it until Anne and the blond returned with hands full of mugs and a pot of freshly brewed coffee.

They set everything out on the coffee table. Anne poured with hands that shook ever so slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know if you wanted milk or sugar."

"Black is fine," Dean said quickly.

She settled into the loveseat opposite them with her hands folded and the blond sat beside her. Sam gave a gentle smile. "We understand how hard this must be for you. You were the one who found Mr. Tyler?"

The blond bristled but Anne cut her off. "It's okay, Liz. If it can help find Jeff's killer." She nodded, swallowing convulsively. Her hands wrapped tight around her mug of coffee, engagement ring clinking against the ceramic when she squeezed. "Yes. We were supposed to have dinner together." She kept nodding like a bobblehead doll in an earthquake. "Jeff always cooked on Fridays. He has the day off from work."

"Where did Mr. Tyler work?" Dean asked.

"The car plant. Why?" Her eyes had grown large and moist while she was talking. "You don't think that anyone he knew…?"

"Routine questions," Dean assured her. Then he pressed his lips together. Sam was about two seconds away from elbowing him in the side again.

"Can't this wait?" Liz asked, shooting the woman beside her a concerned look.

"I'm sorry, Miss…?" Sam trailed off, the question clear in his tone.

"Liz. Benson," the blond supplied. "A friend."

Sam nodded. "Miss Benson, Miss Montgomery, any information you can provide will bring us one step closer to finding the person responsible for Mr. Tyler's death. Anything at all." He'd switched to that firm yet soothing tone he used on traumatized civilians and Dean when he was planning something reckless. And just like always, the women melted like butter. Times like these, Dean was especially conscious of how good a lawyer his brother would have been.

Liz resettled herself and didn't say another word in protest. Anne Montgomery nodded a moment later, taking a steadying breath.

"Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm Mr. Tyler? An ex-girlfriend?"

Anne shook her head and put a hand out to the bible she'd left open on the coffee table in front of her. "I've been asking God for clarity since Jeff… since I found him. I don't understand how someone could do such a thing. He was a good man. The sweetest I've ever known. He didn't have an enemy in the world. Sometimes," she paused and her face fell. "Sometimes I think it really is my fault."

Liz pulled her friend into a one armed hug. "It's not your fault, Anne. It's a coincidence. Or bad luck." She fumbled awkwardly and fell silent.

"I don't understand," Sam said but they weren't even listening to him.

Anne lifted the oversized bible into her lap and started turning pages absently. Her forehead creased. "I hear people talking about me behind my back. Maybe they're right. Maybe God is punishing me." A little gasping sob escaped her lips. "But I don't know what I've done wrong. Why does He take everyone from me?" She looked at them with round eyes and a tear slid down to her chin and fell onto the bible.

Sam and Dean exchanged a quick look. Dean's held barely contained panic while Sam's was just confused. He couldn't connect the dots no matter how hard he tried. He leaned forward on the couch and patted a hand over Anne's clenched fists. "I'm sure that's not the case."

Anne shook her head slowly. "Everyone around me dies. First Nolan. Then Tom. Now Jeff." She gave the cross at her neck another tug. "I don't know what to do anymore. I go to church. I pray every single day. Why is this happening? What am I supposed to do?"

They gave her a minute to collect herself and Dean couldn't resist a little smirk in Sam's direction. Maybe it was their kind of thing after all. Sam rolled his eyes. "You mentioned a Tom. You were engaged to Tom Jones, right?" He shot Dean a warning look when his brother's lips twitched at the name again.

Anne nodded, oblivious. "That's right."

"Who's Nolan?" That was one name they hadn't come across yet.

"He was my boyfriend. In high school." She sighed and shrank like a balloon losing air. "We were going to elope after graduation."

"You what?" Liz cried from beside her, eyes wide. "You never told me that."

"I had my bag packed. Waited all night but he never showed. The next day, I found out he'd had an accident. That'd he passed away." She shook her head and the halo of hair escaping from her braid caught the light. "I didn't tell anyone what we'd planned." With that, she bowed her head and melted into a noisy shower of tears.

"Did he… you know… was he missing anything? When he died," Dean asked, with a vague gesture, finally earning himself that elbow from Sam. "What? It could be important," he muttered in Sam's direction.

The back door slammed and footsteps headed their way, picking up speed after a moment. By the time the new arrival made it to the living room, he was practically running. His expression looked possible of calling down lightning to fry them on the spot. "What the hell are you doing here?" he barked, pulling Anne out of the chair and into a tight hug. The bible slid from her lap, landing in a heap on the floor as she sobbed into his chest. Liz went to his side and leaned in to whisper something but he stopped her with a tiny shake of his head.

"FBI. Investigating the murder of Jeffrey Tyler," Dean said, rising from the couch to stare the guy in the eye. "You are?"

The man hesitated a moment and his arms tightened around Anne's shaking form. His hair was a shade lighter and his eyes were pale blue instead of brown but the resemblance was obvious. "I'm her brother," the man answered. If possible, his frown increased. "You need to leave. Now."

* * *

><p>"Well, that went well," Dean said as they left Anne Montgomery's house.<p>

"Yeah, not so much. But you may be right. There's something strange going on here. Three dead would-be husbands?" Sam's forehead creased in thought. "This is starting to sound familiar. Maybe we should call Bobby."

"You think?" Dean fished his keys from his pocket. "'Cause I got nothing." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Research?"

"Research."

"Awesome," Dean said with a complete lack of enthusiasm as he dropped into the driver's seat.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: <em>The names that Sam and Dean use this time around belong to members of The Band, namely Garth Hudson and Levon Helm. Okay, not really one of the more commonly known bands but I just found a video of Jensen Ackles singing "The Weight" (a song by The Band) at one of the conventions so it seemed appropriate. See? It all makes perfect sense now. Besides, I like the song and it's sort of appropriate to the mood during season 3. I trust everyone got the joke with Tom Jones and, of course, the reference to Lorena Bobbitt. If you didn't, might I recommend some Wikipedia viewing?<em>

_This story isn't going to run too many chapters. Maybe 5 or 6, I'm guessing. On the plus side, these chapters are longer than the ones in You Can't Get There From Here. Please forgive me for any procedural inaccuracies. Everything I know about investigation, I learned from Sam and Dean… and to a lesser extent: Mulder and Scully._

_More hot diner action coming up in the next chapter! Look forward to it._


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: _Sorry for the long delay and the possibility of typos or other wrongness in this chapter. I've been unavoidably detained by a number of pressing deadlines. Namely, a little thing called editing my novel. My actual, non-Supernatural related, original one. Remind me again why I do these things to myself? Oh and of course paintings. Have to finish some paintings for an upcoming show. But the theme is Heaven & Hell so it's sort of appropriate, don't you think? Anyway, that's not the point. I apologize in advance if this chapter came out wonky. If it did… I'll blame Bobby. Yeah, that's it. I've never written him before either. So if this chapter sucks, it's his fault even though I love him dearly. Sorry, Bobby._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Dean rounded the side of the house, taking his time and checking behind overgrown shrubs and flowerbeds gone fallow. Nothing out of the ordinary besides a neighbor's cat giving him the stink eye from beneath a hedge. He barked at it until it ran away and then continued around the side of Jeffrey Tyler's house to the backdoor to let himself in.

Dean had talked Sam into staying behind at the motel to do the book portion of the research while he checked out the Tyler house. It hadn't been too hard. Sam had been shooting him wary looks all day as if he expected Dean to crumble like a sand castle at any moment. It made Dean feel like he _should_ be dissolving into a sloppy puddle of tears and girlish angst. Not that he had any intention of doing that. Ever.

After a quick glance around for potential witness, he pulled his lock pick from his pocket and made short work of the backdoor to the house. The door swung in without a single creak or groan. It was almost a letdown.

Dean stepped into the kitchen at the back of the house and made a face. The heavy tang of leftover blood still hung in the air. No matter how many times he smelled it, it never ceased to disgust him. He was immediately drawn to the spot where Jeff had died. It wasn't hard to find. The man had left behind a sizable stain on the floor, faded to a deep ruddy brown. Dean crouched beside it. The police had outlined the area with thick tape lines, turning it into something like a grotesque coloring book picture. Smudged trails of blood fanned out on the floor. Jeff had kept struggling even after he went down. Dean felt a measure of respect for that, despite the outcome. Jeff had died fighting.

Unbidden, images rose of Dean lying on the floor in Jeff's place, smearing his own blood like fingerpaint. That could be Dean's tape outline on the floor in just a couple weeks.

He stood sharply and retreated to the far side of the living room. Jeff had kept a desk there covered with an organized mess of papers.

It wasn't time yet. Dean nodded to himself as he sifted through the man's electric and cable bills. There were things that had to be done now, today. Imagining his intestines pooling on the floor like a discarded jump rope wasn't one of them. He clamped down hard on the chill snaking up his spine and focused on the papers in his hands. Bills, junk mail, offers for discount magazine subscriptions, all of it crap. Jeff Tyler had been one respectably boring man.

Dean moved from room to room, finally heading up the stairs to the bedroom with its monochromatic attached bathroom. A bible sat on the bedside table, reminding him of Anne Montgomery and the enormous family bible she'd been cradling when they talked to her. Her earnest, teary eyes as she'd told them about the deaths. There was no denying her crappy luck with men but the reasoning behind it remained a mystery so he kept on searching. The medicine cabinet and the closet offered up nothing but an almost OCD attention to detail. A place for everything and everything in its place. Finally he squatted down and checked under the bed. The man didn't even have any porn or, if he did, it was hidden in a place that Dean never would have thought to look. The entire place looked neat, organized, and next to Godliness clean. Like a model home.

Dean stood and scratched his head. He wandered his way back down the stairs and into the living room, skirting the bloodstain on the floor, as he backtracked all the way to the kitchen where he'd come in. It was the only place he hadn't checked over. He'd been too busy eyeballing the bloodstain at the time.

Ironically, the kitchen ended up being the most interesting room in the house. Much of the room must have been bagged and hauled away by the police leaving empty patches on the counter where a knife block might have been or faded squares on the wall in place of pictures. What the room did have in bulk was splatters of blood. Obviously the attack had begun in the kitchen, probably while Jeff was fixing that dinner Anne had talked about. Idly, Dean wondered what he'd been making. Another question that would never be answered. He doubted anyone had bothered to mark that down in the police report. Dean circled the kitchen, opened the fridge and found it nearly empty save for a jug of orange juice and something that might once have been green and leafy. None of it was the least bit helpful. At least not until he came full circle and his eyes dropped to the floor beside the backdoor. He'd walked right by the most important evidence without noticing it. Dean dropped to one knee, reaching out a finger to scrape at the residue of sulfur left on the doorstep. That could only mean one thing. A demon had been there and recently.

"Shit." He glared at the dusting of yellow powder coating his fingertips.

Demons weren't his favorite at the best of times but now, now they were a whole new level of uncomfortable. Worse yet, they knew it. His dance card was going to be filled up before he even made it Downstairs.

Dean brushed his hand on the leg of his jeans and went about rechecking every window and door in the house. He found sulfur on one other: the bedroom window. He didn't know how he'd missed it in the first place.

Of course, sulfur or no sulfur, the question remained: why would anyone, especially a demon, want to kill Jeff Tyler?

* * *

><p>"It's a demon," Dean said, sounding none too pleased.<p>

Sam's lips thinned and his brow furrowed in automatic contemplation. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean snapped back. "I found sulfur by the door and a window."

"Okay, okay. Well, that narrows it down at least."

There was an intense silence on the other end of the phone.

"You okay?" Sam asked when it was clear that Dean had no plans to say more.

"I hate demons."

Sam couldn't help a little chuckle. "Everyone hates demons, Dean. They're _demons_." A second too late, he understood what his brother was really saying. "Oh."

"Call Bobby and see if he has any leads," Dean ordered. He could practically hear Sam gearing up for another round of Let's Talk About Our Feelings. "I'll be back later." He hung up before Sam could ask where he was going.

Sam sat, staring at his phone for a long time before he dropped it back onto the table beside him. He knew exactly what was up with Dean but he was at a loss for something to do about it. Hallmark didn't exactly make "Sorry You're Going To Hell Because Of Me" cards. But this was exactly why he'd tried to keep the Impala pointed like a homing pigeon towards Bobby's house. Every day that passed was one day closer to the deadline. Emphasis on the dead. Lilith was out there somewhere, holding that contract over Dean's head, and they were effectively sitting on their hands, waiting for her to collect.

Sam had already called Bobby. He'd been on the phone the minute Dean pulled away from the motel headed towards Jeff Tyler's house. Bobby hadn't found a damn thing yet. Not a single spell to track Lilith. Nothing to kill her or even slow her down. And certainly nothing to break the contract. Despite being a demon with thousands of years of history behind her, she was still a mystery. It really was starting to look hopeless.

He shoved the open laptop away from him and then almost fell trying to keep it from toppling off the edge of the table. He had no desire to explain a smashed computer to Dean. The mysterious dent in the wall of their previous motel room had been hard enough. Not to mention the poorly constructed jokes he'd had to listen to for three states afterwards.

Research. He should be doing research.

Splitting his time between looking up Lilith and trying to find a precedent for their current mutilation/murders, Sam quickly found his head bobbing low over the laptop keys. His eyelids drooped. He knew all about the near constant nightmares Dean had been having because he had a matching set of his own. Sam's featured Dean, dead in his arms, over and over again. Torn apart in a variety of colorful ways. It made any attempt at sleeping extra exciting. Two weeks left and running out of options. He'd never felt so useless in all his life. There was a demon out there, just begging to be killed, and he couldn't find it. He couldn't save his own brother.

Sam's phone was in hand and ringing again before he'd even realized. The sound of Bobby's gruff voice on the other end was the closest thing to relief Sam had felt in a while.

"It's a demon," Sam said without preamble.

"It's always a demon, boy. Which demon we talking about?"

"The one me and Dean are tracking now. A demon killed the girl's fiancé, probably all the others, too. But we don't know where it is yet."

The older hunter hummed a little in thought. "No likely suspects? Did you try to flush it out?"

"Everyone's almost Stepford nice around here. If there's a demon wearing one of them, I can't find it." Sam frowned a little at the irony. "Besides, why kill all these guys? It's almost like it's protecting the girl or something. Since when do demons do that? It's not like any crossroads deal I've ever heard of. Plus, the general consensus is that Anne Montgomery is the faithful church going type. I can't see her making deals with demons."

"It is odd." Another thoughtful silence stretched between them. "But you're right. This is starting to ring a bell. Let me check something and get back to you later."

"Okay, Bobby. Thanks."

"And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You didn't answer my question earlier. How are you boys doing?"

Sam smiled despite himself, exhaling a thin chuckle. "About as well as can be expected. No one's falling apart yet. Just find something, Bobby. Please."

There was the rustle of a nod from the older hunter before he hung up.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: _Again my deepest and most humble apologies for taking so long with this chapter. Apparently painting, editing, and writing fanfiction at the same time doesn't agree with me. Go figure. In compensation, this chapter is a wee bit longer than the rest and even comes with some complimentary action. No, not that kind of action. The clothed kind of action. I also realize that I lied when I promised some hot diner action in the last chapter. I hang my head in shame. The next scene was actually supposed to be in Chapter 3. And in a diner instead of a bar. Though by the end of it, Dean probably would have preferred if I'd kept it in a diner. (:_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Dean ran through the tapes in the glove compartment, watching the Impala's gas gauge creep towards empty. He didn't have anywhere to but it felt good to be behind the wheel. Windows open to let in the cool air. Mind carefully empty. He kept driving until his stomach decided it was time to stop and refuel.

He pointed the Impala back towards the center of the little town, unsurprisingly named Main Street. It was lined with old timey store fronts: ice cream shops, coffee shops, florists, and, his personal favorite, bars. Dean generally preferred something a little darker and less traveled but he was already there and the motel was within walking distance. Then the deciding vote came in the form of swaying hips and blond hair. A woman crossed the street in front of the car, barely sparing him a glance, but Dean didn't need to look twice to know who she was. Anne Montgomery's friend, Liz.

"Jackpot."

She headed into one of the bars on the street and Dean followed a moment later. He had a few more questions for her.

The interior of the bar glistened with polished wood and brass, more Irish pub than nautical. The bar itself was a short stretch of dark, well worn wood with people clustered around it. The rest of the place was surprisingly well lit, taken up by a series of booths with deep green seats and frosted yellow globe lights hanging over the table. Dean eyed the rows of lights running around the ceiling. He felt like he was under a spotlight as he made his way across the room.

"This taken?" Dean asked with a hand already on the vacant stool beside Liz Benson.

"I'm waiting for someone," Liz said clumsily with a glance around. It was hard to tell if she was lying or just surprised to see him. "You're that FBI guy from earlier."

Dean nodded. "Guilty as charged. But I'm off duty now. Don't worry." While he spoke, he lowered himself onto the stool beside her, flagging down the bartender at the same time to order himself a beer.

"So you're not here to pump me for information?" Liz asked with a sudden note of teasing in her voice.

"Why? Do you want me to?"

She seemed to consider it. "Well, I was supposed to meet someone here." Then her look darkened. "But I have the feeling he's not going to show."

"Oh really now? That's a shame." Dean's lips spread in a charming grin as he leaned towards her. "Who would stand up such a beautiful woman?"

She took a sip from the glass beside her. Dean shot it an appraising glance. Clear. Probably a vodka tonic judging by the half twisted slice of lime in the bottom of the glass. Liz gave it an aggressive stir before she spoke again. "I probably shouldn't tell you this since you're the law. But what the hell." When she smiled at him, it was large and lopsided. Dean wondered if this was the first drink she'd had tonight. Maybe she'd started the party somewhere else first. "I was supposed to meet Saul."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Saul?"

Liz nodded and took another drink. "Anne's brother. You met him. Tall. Dimples and blue eyes." She sighed. "But he's been acting weird ever since Jeff died. We haven't been alone in days."

Dean started to say something then stopped. Not that his input was needed. Liz Benson was like a boulder rolling downhill. Once she started, she was nearly impossible to stop.

"He and Jeff didn't really get along. Saul's _really_ overprotective." Liz shook her head as if Dean had contradicted her. "It's true. Ever since their parents died he won't let her out of his sight. He had a fit when she told him she wanted to move out."

"Really?" Dean took a slow drink from his beer, mulling over what she'd just said. "When did their parents die?"

Liz squinted at the wall behind the bar as if the answer was written there. "Dunno. Maybe… three, four years ago. I think it was the year after we graduated from high school. Car accident. Anne was away at school. After that," Liz shrugged, "she came home for the funeral and just never left again. It's kind of strange, right? They're so codependent it's a little creepy. Not normal at all."

She trailed off and Dean forced an awkward chuckle. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe they're just a close family."

"Never used to be," Liz said firmly. "I've known Anne forever. She and Saul used to be at each other's throats all the time. He treated her like she was a nuisance. Then all of a sudden it's like he'd do anything for her. Family doesn't act like that. It's _weird._"

"When did things change?"

Liz started squinting again, lifting her glass to her lips even though it was empty. She frowned at the lime wedge in the bottom as if it had drunk all her vodka. "Senior year of high school. All of a sudden he did this total 180. He was worse than her parents. Always wanting to know where she was going, who she'd be with. Like I said: creepy."

"Yeah. I got that," Dean said.

Liz's smile brightened. "So screw Saul. He can't dump me like that. And you're pretty cute. You're not secretly in love with your sister, are you?"

Dean laughed into the beer he'd raised to his lips. "I don't have a sister." But Liz had definitely given him some interesting information. It was also the closest thing to a lead they'd gotten. "Be back in a minute. Gotta make a quick phone call." He slid from his stool and headed towards the moderate privacy found beside the door to the bar. Sam had answered by the time he got there.

"Where are you?" Sam asked, sounding a little huffy.

"I just got lucky—"

"Told you before. You don't need to call me for that," Sam cut in before he could finish.

"That's not what I meant, man." Dean couldn't help a smirk as he pictured the bitchy look on Sam's face. "I ran into that friend of Anne Montgomery's. Liz. She just gave me their whole life story. Found out something."

"And what did _you_ have to do to get it?"

"Surprisingly nothing," Dean said. "Anyway, she said there's something funny going on between Anne and her asshat of a brother. Name's Saul. Said he went Pod People a few years back, started acting totally different."

"Different how?"

"Stalker boyfriend different, sounds like. Maybe he's our demon."

"Yeah, but why's he hanging around here? And around Anne Montgomery?"

"Who knows? Maybe he really likes cows or corn or whatever it is they got here." Dean shrugged even though Sam couldn't see it. "Either way, it's worth looking into."

"So you want me to check it out while you _check out_ that girl Liz, right?" Sam filled in slowly.

"See, this is why we work so well together. I knew you'd understand."

Sam grumbled but finally agreed. Not that Dean would listen to any of his arguments anyway. Time was ticking away like sand in an hourglass and Dean obviously planned to keep on pretending like it wasn't. Sam shouldn't have been surprised. That had been standard operating procedure with Dean for the last year. But Sam had been thinking all day and he'd come to a conclusion. He was tired of brooding on Dean's impending doom, too. Just for a little while, it might be nice to pretend like the future wasn't barreling towards them like a freight train. Like the old days. So Sam bent his head over his laptop and went back to searching through old news stories and police reports, looking for anything to do with Anne Montgomery or her possibly possessed brother Saul.

But Sam couldn't help a little frown. Dean could have at least offered to bring him back something to eat.

* * *

><p>Dean kept smiling and nodding long after the conversation with Liz Benson took a turn for the worse. After a while, he was tempted to fake a phone call from Sam so he'd have a convenient excuse to leave. If he hadn't just ordered his food he might have. But then his bacon double cheeseburger appeared before him and he was helpless to deny it. He was also pleasantly surprised to find it came on thick slabs of garlicky Texas toast. Coupled with the extra onions he'd ordered, it was practically shooting out wavy lines of delicious stink. Unfortunately the smell wasn't enough to deter Liz.<p>

"I mean, how could he do that to me?" she was in the process of wailing. "We've been together for months now and he just blew me off like I was trash. Just because _Anne_ is grieving."

Dean just shook his head and took another bite of his burger. It was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

At first the information that she had been involved with Anne Montgomery's brother Saul had been interesting. The fact that he had dumped her within hours of the murder, even more so. But then she'd ordered another drink and unshed tears pooled around the corners of her eyes, just waiting for an excuse to pour out like a waterfall of soap opera angst.

"Men are scum," she finally concluded around the time that Dean was polishing off the last of his burger. She looked at him with anime sized doe eyes and batted her lashes. "But not you. You're sweet."

Dean gave her another half assed nod and chewed faster.

"You want to get out of here?"

Any other time, Dean might have been tempted to take her up on the blatant offer of sexytimes made by her eyes. Liz Benson was undeniably attractive. The cleavage peeking from the deep V of her t-shirt promised a good time would be had by all. But he couldn't work up any true enthusiasm for her offer. Of course the fact that she seemed likely to explode like a water balloon at the first provocation wasn't much of an incentive either. He shook his head 'no.'

Liz leaned towards him, nearly falling into his lap. Then she stopped. Her nose wrinkled and she straightened up. "You reek of onions."

Dean wasn't sure if he should have been offended or relieved. He settled on a little bit of both. Then he made his excuses, wiped his hands on his napkin, and slapped a tip down on the bar. He gave Liz a farewell nod as he left.

She'd been a big help. Whether she knew it or not.

* * *

><p>Sam had dug up everything he could on the Montgomery family. As far as he could tell there was no deep dark history hiding beneath the white bread churchgoing image. If there were skeletons to find, they were long since pounded into dust and buried in the backyard. The most noteworthy thing had been a picture of young Saul in his altar boy robes.<p>

But the Leave It To Beaver appearance had undergone a bit of an upheaval in the last five years. Saul was no longer the sweet little altar boy. Judging by the scattered police reports and newspaper blurbs, Saul had gotten into more than his fair share of bar brawls. Not that that was particularly incriminating. However, the people dropping like flies did raise some questions. First Nolan, Anne's high school sweetheart, was found dead beside the county highway leading out of town. No mention was made of anything he may or may not have been missing but the police had never found the killer. Nolan had been something of an outcast, from a poor family, often in trouble, so blame was eventually laid on some of his unsavory activities. Unofficially of course. The next year, Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery's car plowed into a pole, killing them both. The weather took the blame for that one. Adding the untimely death of Tom Jones and Jeffrey Tyler to the mix, not to mention the unusual nature of their deaths, did make a definite pattern. A spiral of death winding around Anne Montgomery. But that didn't necessarily make Saul Montgomery a demon in disguise.

Everything was inconclusive at best which meant they'd have to go the direct route and check out Saul in person. Sam sent a text to that effect but there was no response from Dean. By now, his brother was probably investigating Liz Benson in more detail.

Sam groaned, hoisting himself out of the uncomfortable little motel chair. He'd grabbed something from the diner down the street and his eyes were about ready to melt from all the records he'd been sifting through. He'd done as much as he could for one night. Sam thought for a moment about calling Bobby but quickly threw out the idea. He'd practically been checking in hourly. It wasn't doing anybody any good. So Sam gave his back another good twist and a stretch and decided it was time to call it a day.

* * *

><p>A noise in the dark startled Sam out of his unpleasant dreams. He wasn't sad.<p>

"Dean?" he called, raising his bleary head from the pillow to look at the door to their motel room. It was still closed. The bed beside him remained untouched. No light coming from the bathroom. Not Dean.

Sam was up like a shot. Then he leapt backwards as a blade slashed through the air. He got one arm up to block, taking a shallow hit to the forearm before he could get out of the way. The arm he could deal with. At least it hadn't been his throat.

"Who's there?" Sam scrambled over the bed, grabbing the gun he'd stashed beneath his pillow as he went. His eyes ran over the midnight gloom. He should have been able to see his attacker. It wasn't that dark even with the curtains drawn. But for all he could see, the room was still empty.

The air seemed to chuckle. "You're fast. That should have sliced you in two."

Sam's gun swung in the direction of the voice but couldn't find an actual target. "Who are you?"

Something shifted in the dark and for a moment, Sam thought he could see a face—no, three of them—before it disappeared like a puff of smoke on the breeze.

"You put your hands on something that belongs to me," said the voice, dipping low in anger.

The words still hung in the air when the knife reappeared, slicing forward as if it had a mind of its own. Sam dodged, firing off a shot into the empty air.

It was met with another laugh, this one darker than the first. "I'm going to take you apart. Piece by piece."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Who's there?" Sam asked again, more for the comfort of speaking than from any real expectation of an answer. He hoped that if the thing kept talking he might be able to pin down a location. Its voice was barely more than a rasp but Sam quickly came to the conclusion that he knew who was behind it. Or inside of it. Honestly he wasn't quite sure how to phrase it even to himself. Either way, it looked like they'd found their demonic suspect.

The invisible attacker laughed, high and gleeful, the sound of a child unwrapping a present he'd been expecting all year. "So many questions for a hunter. By now, they're usually spouting out half baked exorcisms."

Sam froze. "What?"

"Another question. You think you're the first hunter I've come up against over the years? Please." Sam could practically hear the thing roll its eyes at him. "Did you expect me to run away because you found me? You're tall but none of that extra room went for brains."

Sam tipped his head to the side, trying to place exactly where the sound was coming from. He inched forward a step. "What are you?"

The cloudy haze of the demon resolved by degrees until it was almost human shaped. Then it spread its arms, pointed tip of the knife sticking out of one hand. "Were you expecting a letter of introduction? 'Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.' That kind of thing?"

"Rumpelstiltskin?" Sam asked before he could stop himself.

The demon sighed. "I was going for a Rolling Stones reference. Your leather jacketed friend would have understood."

Sam ran the last thirty seconds through his head, a frown creasing his brow. Maybe he was still dreaming because this was the strangest demon attack he'd ever experienced. Then he was forcibly yanked from his reverie by another slice of the blade. It passed through the air where his head had been a moment earlier.

Sam circled back around in the cramped space, aiming for the stash of weapons Dean kept beneath his bed. "What are you then? You're not like any demon I've ever seen."

"So you've figured out that much already. Impressive. I'm still going to gut you like a fish, but I am impressed."

"I know a lot of other things, too."

The demon scoffed. "You're not nearly as smart as you think you are. You really think you know what I can do? Fucking fruit flies, the lot of you. I was here before you were born and I'll _still_ be here when you're dust." The demon swung the knife again to punctuate the words.

Sam dropped to the floor, ducking the blade, and snagging the bag beneath Dean's bed. He'd backed himself into a corner but at least he was armed. Beside him the demon grunted, "Hold still," under its breath.

The jug of holy water sat on the floor beneath the bed, nestled next to the bag of weapons. Sam had almost forgotten it until his hand brushed the cool plastic side. He yanked it out with his other hand, thumbing off the cap as he swung it in a great arc. Water washed the air in front of him, hitting the solid shadow with a splash.

The demon hissed and finally resolved into a more familiar shape. Saul Montgomery palmed water out of his eyes with a growl. His hair was plastered against his forehead and large damp spots peppered his shirt. There was the faint hiss of sizzling flesh. "That actually stings a little," he said. Saul smiled as his eyes met Sam's. Then, for just a moment, his eyes flashed as white as his teeth.

It was enough to startle Sam, disrupting his rise from the floor. He tightened his grip on his gun, leveling it on the demon just as the door to the room swung open.

Dean stood silhouetted against the dimly lit parking lot, blinking owlishly into the dark room. "Sam?"

Saul half turned towards the newcomer, apparently unconcerned with the gun still pointed in his direction. "Now it's a party."

"What the—" Dean had his gun out, safety off, as soon as he registered the voice of someone who wasn't his brother. A second after that, Sam collided with him, flung across the room like a rag doll. He'd taken out half the wicker room divider on the way. Sam and Dean hit the wall with a thud, wicker raining down around them like confetti.

"I can't believe I didn't see it before." Saul crouched beside them, just out of striking distance. "How unusual. Making deals with demons. This one with the marked soul." He tipped his head towards Dean. "I know you."

"Great," Dean said as he found his legs. His gun had disappeared when Sam had knocked him down like a bowling pin so he pulled out the knife he had stashed instead. "I guess that makes us best friends." Beside him, Sam readied his gun again. They both felt better with a weapon in their hands.

Saul just laughed like they were girlfriends meeting for coffee instead of enemies trying to kill each other. "We've never met, Dean. Yes, I do know your name. Don't be so surprised," he added dismissively. "But I think we'll be good friends. Soon. Lilith always did have a knack for picking interesting toys."

The brothers tensed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked.

Saul turned in his direction, eyes going sharp. He looked him up and down before his lips spread into a sly smile. "What an interesting pair you two make," he said again. "Shame we couldn't meet under better circumstances."

"Enough talk," Dean said, finally losing patience. Talking didn't get rid of demons. He spotted his gun under the corner of one of the beds. Now he just had to get to it. In the meantime, he still had a freshly sharpened knife at his disposal. It wouldn't kill a demon but he would make do.

He lunged forward, leading with his knife, half expecting Saul to dodge. He didn't. Saul stood perfectly still, watching Dean with a smirk before his hand shot out. He grabbed Dean by the wrist and swung him around like a merry-go-round, sending him back the way he'd come. This time Dean rocketed into Sam. They hit the wall and then the floor a second time. When their heads had stopped spinning, Saul had disappeared leaving nothing but bruises and a room full of broken furniture to show he'd been there at all.

"Found our demon," Dean said with a groan, retrieving his gun from where it had fallen.

Sam was already busy poking around the room to be sure they were really alone. He eyed the mess that had been the bedside lamp. There was another large dent in the wall where they'd bounced off like a tennis ball. "We should find somewhere else to sleep," Sam said with a glance in Dean's direction.

"You're probably right."

Their bags were packed in record time, clothes and weapons tossed together with as little care as they could safely manage. Sam's errant gunshots had already drawn the attention of the local police so the brothers decided it would be in their best interest to sneak out the back. Or, in their case, the bathroom window. Luckily they'd gotten a first floor room this time. Neither one had any desire to add sprains or broken bones onto the bumps and bruises they'd already collected for the night.

Dean slid through the window with moderate ease but Sam wasn't quite so lucky. He was busy trying to fold himself into a pretzel when they heard the first knock on the door of their motel room.

"Hurry up," Dean hissed as if that would make his brother more compact.

"I'm trying," Sam grunted back trying to speak without breathing. With a shove of his legs, he slid through the narrow window, tipping forward and almost meeting the ground face first when his feet snagged the ledge.

Beside him, Dean snorted. "Dude, you suck."

"Shut up."

They both shut up when they heard their motel room door burst open, banging back against the wall. The local PD had officially arrived.

It was going to be a bitch getting the Impala out of the parking lot without anyone spotting them.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: <em>This chapter really shouldn't have taken so long to write and edit. Really shouldn't. It was all so simple. But apparently I still suck at writing fight sequences. And then along came Script Frenzy. On the upside I have 100 pages of a faux TV show script to turn into a novel in the coming weeks. Fun, fun stuff. But I feel bad for neglecting the Winchesters in their hour of need. I'll have to write them something extra pretty when I have more time. When I finish this story. Still another two chapters or so on the way.<em>

_Please leave reviews. They make me smile. They also encourage me to work on writing fight sequences that don't suck. This is a valuable skill, or so I've heard._

_On a final note, Levon Helm died the other day. This makes me sad. It's also strange considering I used his name as one of Dean's fake IDs back in Chapter 2. RIP._


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